


Lady Came From Baltimore

by whatsacleverusername



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: British Slang, Canon-Typical Violence, Cinderella Elements, Come on, Demons, Demons Are Assholes, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Music, Jim is an idiot, Light Angst, London, Magic, Past Tense, Sharing a Bed, Some Humor, Sort Of, Strangulation, Swearing, Victorian, clever but still an idiot, commitment issues, did someone order a gentlemanly thief, himbo rights, kind of, not really an oc but, not the fun kind, takes place in the 90's so, who'd have guessed, why is it always midnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 20:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername
Summary: I was there to steal her moneyTake her rings and runThen I fell in love with the ladyGot away with noneWhen Jim falls, he fallshard.





	Lady Came From Baltimore

Ah, London. How it did lift Jim’s spirits to see his old stomping ground so alive all these decades later. It was, what… 1990 already? ‘94? Oh well, unimportant. Evidently his lack of regard for temporal affairs was shared by the gaudily costumed crowd surrounding him, having been reportedly gathered since before the midnight hour, nearly three hours ago. A "costume party", as he was informed, the Victorian theme perfect for Jim to roam through- albeit adorned with a pilfered mask- absently perusing pockets and taking what fancied him. More like a thief’s buffet as far as he was concerned, the whole thing almost _too_ easy. It very nearly seemed like cheating, but he reminded himself that he was rather fond of those sorts of games as well. He smiled to himself as he twirled a freshly swiped diamond and gold necklace around a finger as he languidly ambled away from its previous owner, humming along to the vaguely familiar tune seeping out from the odd contraptions on the stage. "Speakers" or something. He doesn’t give half enough of a damn to keep track of all these new machines, having grown quite bored of them shortly after the Industrial Revolution. Thievery, however, certainly never grows old. In fact… Tucking the necklace away with his other stolen prizes, Jim eyed up a rather oblivious looking man inspecting the cash box behind the bar just a few yards away. Intending to show the sorry looking sod how to _really_ go about things, as well as get his night’s fill of showman’s dramatics, Jim reached into his cloak with the intent of producing his flintlock, readying the firearm to brandish at the less than impressive man.

However, a sudden loud, blaring noise nearly caused him to misfire, turning around quickly to find the source of the godawful noise. Quirking an invisible brow at the dark mockery of proper Victorian apparel, he drifted back into the crowd of fools too drunk to notice the man phasing through them, save for the shivers and cold left in his wake, hovering just enough to get a clear look at the stage. Betwixt two large "speakers", a troop clad solely in black began some raucous tune, Jim only able to vaguely identify the leading instrument, much less the others. Some type of guitar by the look of it. The only familiar instrument was the piano looking thing on a stand. Thoroughly unimpressed, Jim made his way into the middle of the crowd, resuming his thievery as he went. However, he soon found his attention swayed away by the telltale yellow glint he loved so much, his eyes following it onto the stage. He was only all the more distracted by the origins of the golden glimmer, or rather the fair lady _wearing_ them. If his brows were visible, they surely would have disappeared into his hairline in surprise. Dark strands of puffy hair framing her powdered pale face, the drummer's actions over her instrument jostled the large, inverted gold crosses dangling from her ears, almost electric blue eyes trained on the task at hand. Jim could’ve almost forgiven the less than delightful sound emanating from the band as she played in their midst, albeit a little more towards the rear. More than once, he caught himself hovering slightly to get a better look at her. Not that he was too terribly interested, of course, much less _that_ kind of interested. Definitely not. Just rather curious. Yes, rather curious indeed. Or so he insisted to himself. Didn't help his case when he could've sworn he felt his dead heart flutter as she glanced over at him in between songs. Best to make certain of that he thought, picking an inconspicuous place to watch from, eyes that no longer needed to blink watching with betraying attentiveness.

Jim could hardly say how long he spent watching the performance, thoroughly engrossed in the whole thing, but all too soon it seemed to end. He couldn’t help but frown as the music died down and the crowd began to disperse into smaller, roving groups once more, leaving Jim standing on his own off to the side. At least he could watch the musicians pack up, tending to their instruments and chatting amongst themselves. With an inaudible sigh, he took a seat at a rounded, empty table, resting his chin in his hand and absently readjusting the silvery fox inspired mask. He began to debate taking his spoils and leaving, until a flash of gold caught his eye. Quickly jumping up from his seat, he hurriedly followed the shining glint with the skillful eye of a thief, making use of his ghostly being to speed up the process. Sure enough, he spotted her through the throngs of people, standing near the buffet table and idly sipping from a glass of some nondescript beverage, undoubtedly of the alcoholic sort. But before he could even make his way over to her, she fixed him with that paralyzing blue gaze, rooting him to the spot as she looked him over. Coming to some conclusion, she offered him a smug smirk and gestured with a nod of her head for him to walk over. Perhaps a little too eagerly, he obeyed, striding over to her with a smile despite the mask. For who was he to deny a fair damsel her wishes?

Looking him up and down, she pursed her painted black lips before asking, "why the hell do you keep staring at me?"

Perhaps it wasn’t a smirk. He fumbled slightly, finding himself tripping over his words, losing all ability to speak when she snickered at him.

"Relax, I’m just messing with you," she said with a dazzling smile. "Name’s Suzie," she added, holding out her hand. 

Something told Jim the traditional kiss on the hand greeting wasn’t the wisest choice, instead shaking her hand.

"Jim Craddock," he answered in kind. "Ah-" Best not to announce the ole profession in this case. "Pleased to meet you, miss Suzie."

Quirking a brow at the hesitation, she asked, "something wrong?"

"Oh, no, simply-" Searching for something, _anything_, he observed, "your accent is odd for the current locale. American?"

"Baltimore," she specified, taking another sip of her drink.

"Isn’t that in one of the 13 colonies?" he asked. Geography. Very topical.

"Maryland," she stated.

"I think that’s one of ‘em," he said.

Pausing for a moment to think, she asked, "is it?"

"Damfino," he shrugged.

Making a thoughtful sound, she looked past him over to the stage, thinning her lips in displeasure, leading Jim to turn and look as well.

"Think they could do without a drummer?" she proposed.

His turn to pause in thought, it took him a moment to understand what she meant, confused as he'd thought the band was done, trying his best to sound nonchalant as he replied, "don’t see why not. I’ve seen some of those little piano contraptions that can make drum sounds."

Snorting, she said, "I guess. Should still probably give them a more believable excuse."

Not giving him time to reply, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the crowd beginning to form. Whether she noticed or cared about the unusual chill of Jim's hand, she didn't show. Not even as she wrapped his arm around her waist and rested her hand on his shoulder, pulling him into a slow dance despite the lack of music playing. That was quickly amended after a few minutes, Suzie making a face at one of the band members that made it obvious she wouldn’t be joining them again. Far too much fun to be had down here, she said, leaving Jim to not let that comment inflate his ego _too_ much. As the music returned to the louder variety played before, so their dancing changed in suit, Suzie more or less taking the lead. She laughed when he said he wasn’t sure, egging him on and taking his hands to move him around, pulling an unshakable smile across his hidden face. He couldn’t help but laugh as well, giving in to the lady’s wiles. Not to say he wasn’t enjoying himself, talking and dancing the night away, sharing the night with someone else for the first time in decades. But once again, all too soon, he found his enjoyment cut abruptly short as the music died off for the final time, only then noticing how much of the crowd had already dispersed to stumble their drunken selves back home.

"‘Tis curtains, then, I suppose," he observed, a little more disappointed than he meant to sound.

"Looks like it," Suzie agreed. "Doesn’t mean you can’t come see me tomorrow once we’re both out of these damn costumes."

Turning his attention back to her, he asked, "really?"

"Sure," she grinned. "How ‘bout outside the Soho Theatre around 3?"

"Sounds splendid," Jim said. "I’ll meet you then, Miss Suzie."

Chuckling at his stubborn use of formalities, she leaned over to kiss the cheek of his mask, leaving behind a mark as she said, "I’ll be waiting."

Still as a statue, and twice as dumbfounded, he watched her amble back over to the stage to help with the last bit of tidying up, feeling that odd flutter in his chest again, only managing to shake away the spell once she pointed him out to one of her bandmates. All but skipping, he made his exit, waving farewell to her as he left the great room. All the while, a devious but not unusual notion began growing into a scheme within his sharp mind. He could always rob her. After all, he _is_ a master thief. It wouldn’t be too terribly difficult. A few tricks, some sleight of hand, some fast talk- Beyond easy. It truly would round out the day nicely. Except- Bringing his plans to a crashing halt, he realized his blunder; the only reason he was able to blend in to the Victorian costume party was because he was Victorian! "Out of costume"- Obvious! Swearing under his breath, he removed his mask and smacked a hand to his forehead, stowing the item in his cloak and turning fully invisible. How could he have made such an oversight? He, of all people, the infamous Gentleman Ghost! Christ, if it was anyone else, he’d be in tears laughing- as much as a ghost _can_ be in tears. Now, however, he was left with a bitter taste in his mouth. Only adding insult to injury, he felt someone or something comparatively unusual nearing him, swearing once again as he quickened his pace. Yet despite every turn and shortcut he made, phasing through buildings and people alike, the presence only continued getting closer. Until finally, stretching out from a dark alley, a clawed hand grabbed his neck and pulled him closer. A great horned beast threw him against the dead end of the alley, holding him up so that his legs are left to dangle helplessly. Despite his best efforts, Jim found he was unable to escape, trying both to wriggle away and phase through the grip. Ready for the worst, he braced himself against the wall, leaning his head back with a gulp, cracking open an eye.

Upon recognizing the creature holding him, and certainly the ridiculously over the top horns, he sighed, "oh. It’s you."

"Your days of evading me are over, thief," the demon growled. "Surrender now and-"

"Aye, I know, here to collect," Jim interrupted. Casually resting a hand on the thing’s huge wrist, he said, "let me down and we can talk like civilized men of business, eh?"

"You’re a snake, James Craddock," it hissed, despite dropping him. "But you’re out of places to run."

"Yes, yes," he grumbled, brushing off his now forcefully corporeal sleeves and forgoing the mention that snakes don’t run. Good Lord did he hated that trick. "Can we hurry this along, please?"

"You’ve tricked me for the last time," it said. "No one can evade the Devil-"

"Oh, my dear cully," he said, rolling his forcibly visible eyes- quite a nasty trick- "spare me the Devil spiel. We’ve known each other _far_ too long for that."

"Surrender your soul now, or I shall tear it from your being," it growled, raising its claw to strike.

Moving out of the way, skirting around the demon and making sure to avoid the forked tail, an idea made its way to him. He avoided another claw, pulling his cloak closer to his body to avoid being snatched.

"Now hold on just a moment," he said crossly, standing up and his full height. It astonished him how reliably that always worked. "You want my soul, eh?"

"Yes!" the demon roared.

"How ‘bout this, then," he proposed, "you help me this one last time, make me look like the modern man for a day, and I’ll hand it all over."

Giving him a scrutinizing yellow look, the demon asked, "no tricks?"

"No gimmicks, no antics, no skilamalink nonsense," Jim affirmed. Holding up a gloved hand and wiggling the appropriate finger, he added, "pinky promise."

Weighing its options, it finally conceded, "very well. You have until 12-"

"That’s a bit cliche, innit?" he commented. "Why’s it always got to be midnight?"

Growling, it corrected, "3 AM."

"Oh, that's _so_ much better," he said sarcastically. "‘The Devil's Hour, ooo!’ I know you're not really-"

"Do you want it to be 5 O'Clock?" it snapped.

"…2:30," he bargained.

"12:30," it shot back.

"2?"

"12:45."

"1:45."

Snarling, it stated, "1:35. No more."

Waving his hand, Jim conceded, "fine, fine. Deal. And see, that's not even stereotypical! I've done you favour, eh? Rather kind of me, wouldn't you- _Erk_-"

Cutting him off, silver, ghostly rope wrapped around his neck, tying itself into a noose and strangling him. He struggled with it, desperately trying to pull it off, unable to simply  
phase through it. Falling to his knees, he dug at the rope cutting into his throat, quickly beginning to lose consciousness. Just as the dark threatened to completely overtake his vision, the pressure suddenly vanished, Jim doubling over and struggling for breath. Breath that he _shouldn't_ need. And why does his neck burn and ache? Pressing a gloved hand to the red mark forming, he hissed in pain, glaring up at the demon.

Struggling to stand, Jim seethed, "you- You bastard. You know this isn't what I meant! You son of a-" 

Doubling over again, he clutched his stomach, a sudden feeling of weakness overtaking him. Humans need food and drink. And he hasn't had either in ages. He managed to raise his head to leer up at the demon once more, scowling at the delighted expression on its wicked face.

"I'd suggest you take a shower as well, _cully_," the demon mocked. "You smell like a corpse."

Laughing maniacally, the demon threw its arms up in the air and disappeared in a plume of smoke and brimstone, causing Jim to cough violently. Struggling to get his breathing back under control- not an easy feat when you've been dead for most of your existence- he pulled himself up to his feet, using the walls of the alley to keep himself steady as he tested walking. Wobbling down the street, he muttered a string of curses to himself, swiping a tray of food off some sorry sod’s table, not that the man noticed until Jim was well gone. His own fault, really.

Making his way down the London streets, he tried to adjust to having a physical body again, absently munching on his stolen dinner. A basket of fish and chips. Why, if it was anymore stereotypical… Making a few stops as he wandered, he collected an improvised outfit, one a blond, alcoholic associate with a fondness for cigarettes would approve of. Not that he was paying attention to such things. Finding a safe, inconspicuous alley, Jim ducked inside and set out his stolen goods, pulling his old cloak around his shivering body. Finishing the last of his chips, he grumbled darkly to himself, cursing his own foolishness and, more so, the demon with a raging superiority complex. Christ, if he could give it a piece of his mind… He nestled himself up into a corner, draping the newly stolen trench coat over himself while the other clothing items rested in his lap, devising a way to get back at that bastard once all was said and done.

Awaking with a start to the feeling of small _things_ moving around in his cloak, he jumped up quickly, one of the little invaders falling from the fabric and scurrying away. _Rats_. Quite literally. Hastily removing his cloak, he shook it out and used it to shoo away the rodents, only to find more in his overcoat. Forced to strip down to his shirt, he threw his vest after the vermin in frustration, finding it- and everything else he’d already taken off- disintegrating upon contact with the pavement. Only growing increasingly annoyed, he made certain no one was around before quickly changing properly. Sure enough, everything he’d worn for the last two centuries or so dissolved into dust and blew away on a sudden draft, a chill running down his spine. Pulling the trench coat tighter around himself, he fixed his scarf and exited the alley once more. At least he can still try to make a profit, not that he has much hope like this… Soho Theatre, 3 PM. Passing by a restaurant and checking the clock on a wall inside, Jim grimaced. 2 PM already. He'll have to be quick…

Hurriedly rounding the corner onto Dean Street, Jim looked up ahead and, spotting Suzie, came to a halt. Fixing the lapels of his coat and straightening his scarf, making sure the nasty bruise ringed around his neck was covered, he took a moment to catch his breath before heading up the sidewalk, waving and calling to her.

Arms folded, she turned her head towards the voice, her face lighting up slightly as she asked, "Craddock?"

"What, were you expecting some other dashingly handsome stranger?" he grinned.

"Wasn’t like I saw much of you to begin with," she shot back with a smirk. "Should’ve had you take your mask off." Before Jim could make some excuse as to why that would have been a horrible, terrible idea that she’s very fortunate that she did not do, for both their sakes, she slyly commented, "I see you broke out the new duds just for me."

"They’re not _that_ new," he sheepishly said without thinking. Hurriedly covering himself, he added, "gift from a friend. Didn’t fit, you see."

"Mhm," she said. "Anyone I should know?"

"John Con-" Mentally slapping himself on the forehead, he searched for a cover, finishing, "-ner."

"Like the guy in that new Terminator movie?" she scoffed.

"Never heard of ‘im," he answered.

Laughing, she rolled her eyes and said, "well, whoever he is, he could’ve at least washed them for you. They smell like _death_."

Just managing to keep his expression from dropping, Jim hurried to explain, "well, you see, I ran into-"

"I’m just fuckin’ with you!" she laughed again, playfully swatting his arm. "Now come on, we’ve got a lot of places to hit, and I’m not missing any of them."

"Aye, but-" he tried to say, but he left his statement behind as he was pulled along by his arm, making use of his long legs to keep up and avoid falling flat on his face as she took off.

Pulling him along, she lead him into a few shops, Jim more than happy to carry her purchases as they ran all over Hell’s half acre. They visited a few restaurants and later bars as the night came on, talking and laughing and carrying on. Her comment about his lack of "proper British attitude"- an incredibly sarcastic remark- lead him to mention being a Scotsman by blood and upbringing, his comment of her style- an incredibly adoring remark- lead her to mention an admiration for some people named Siouxsie Sioux and Joan Jett. Whoever they were.They went on for hours like this, Jim quickly losing track of time in the whirl of their escapades. He even started to feel guilty for not offering to buy her a drink at one of the bars they visited, as he understood was customary of the time, thoroughly distracted from his original task. Certainly not for the reasons one might think, not for how beautiful she looked, how alive he felt around her, how she would laugh and smile at him for every funny little thing he said… No. No, he was merely overwhelmed by the slew of modernism around him and the long forgotten sensations of the flesh. Food, drink, breath… He nearly felt drunk on those alone. Of course, the alcohol _definitely_ assisted in that feeling.

After being forcibly expelled from a bar for the fifth, they staggered out, Suzie tipsily holding onto Jim and giggling. A little red nosed himself, Jim chuckled as she kicked an empty bottle on the street back towards the bar, catching her when she stumbled.

Helping her stand upright again, slightly slurring, he said, "I hate to put a damper on things, my darling church-bell, but I feel as though the third time’s the charm. Er- _Third plus two_."

Frowning slightly, she reluctantly conceded, "I guess so… These damn heels are starting to hurt, anyhow." Brightening up again like a switch, she grabbed his hand and stated, "you should come back to the hotel with me."

Searching in vain for any sign of swaying her, he caved, "if you insist, I suppose-"

Starting to pull him along again, a little too enthusiastic for her unsteady feet, she tripped, Jim pulling her back and catching her with his arm. 

"Mayhaps we should find somewhere close by," he suggested with concern.

"No, I’m fine," she assured, still smiling. "Besides, it’s just a few blocks away."

Frowning, he argued, "then, at the very least, allow me to help you there?"

"Well, duh," she laughed, _not_ pulling on him this time.

Chuckling, he extended his arm to let her lead him off, while keeping a close distance to catch her if she should fall again. True to her word, however, they arrived at the hotel in only a few minutes, Suzie pulling him along into the elevator and all but hanging off him as they go up floor after floor, Jim himself needing to hold onto the wall to steady himself. Which she of course teased him about. He got back at her when she fumbled with the key to her room, nevertheless helping her open the door. Guiding her to the plush chair next to the bed, he sat in the other at the small desk opposite her. He couldn’t help but laugh slightly when she sprung up again, standing with her arms out for balance. 

Scowling at him, she asked, "what’s so funny, huh?"

"Forgive me, but you look like you’re fighting the wind," he answered, trying to force his laughter under control.

"Oh yeah?" she challenged. "At least I don’t look like I’m wearing a paper bag."

Stopping mid chortle, he fixed her with a look of mock offense. Unable to find it in himself to really hold it against her, he rolled his eyes fondly and shucked off his brown trench coat, draping it over the back of his chair. Smirking at him, she sauntered over towards him, reaching for the contraption behind him on the desk. Turning to watch her interact with it, vaguely curious about modern inventions all of a sudden, he nearly jumped out of his seat when loud music came roaring out of it, a woman’s voice mixed in with the cacophony.

Neglecting the common decency to so much as _attempt_ to hide her snicker, she teased, "what, not a fan?"

"No," he denied indignantly. "It was just loud. I’m not even sure who that is." He turned his nose up somewhat jokingly, as if making some eloquently worded argument.

"Joan Jett," she informed. "I was just telling you about her, Craddock, weren’t you paying attention?"

"I was," he assured. Not that it meant anything sunk in. "It’s just-" Don’t say beyond your time, don’t say beyond your time, don’t say beyond your time. "-not to my taste."

Evidently deeming this an acceptable answer, she shrugged, pulling the other chair at the desk over and flopping down in it. Kicking off her heels, she reached for the thing- a "portable stereo'' she said- and began fiddling with the controls of it. Between each click, a few raucous notes screeched out of the miniature speakers built into the piece of technology, until she stopped on a not as obnoxiously loud song. Mildly pleasant even, made more so when she reached for his hands to pull him up. Quirking a brow as she started to swing their arms, he said nothing and complied, content to let her lead him in an odd sort of dance around the slightly too small hotel room. A dance that ended when he stepped wrong, tripping over a snag in the carpet. Fortunately they had spun close enough to the bed, and he fell onto it, bouncing slightly as his legs were knocked out from under him. Laughing, she copied him, letting herself fall over onto the soft bed. When she bounced, however, it knocked Jim out of place, nearly landing flat across his chest when she came back down. Staring at each other for a moment, Suzie was the first to break the slightly stunned silence, snorting and giggling at the surprised expression plastered across Jim’s face. Instantly contagious, he let his head fall back against the sheets as he laughed as well, running a hand through his brown hair. 

Propping herself up on an elbow, she teasingly said, "y’know, you seemed a lot more surefooted yesterday."

Scoffing, he thoughtlessly shot back, "I didn’t have corporeal legs then."

Rolling her eyes at the absurd comment, not thinking much of it, she shook her head with a smile before tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear. Though the touch left him with a long forgotten feeling of longing, he couldn’t shake the notion that he was forgetting something- rather a _few_ things to be fair. Very important things. He couldn’t hope to recall them as she leaned down towards him, her breath warm against his face. _His_ face, which hadn’t felt warmth or anything in a terribly long time. He couldn’t help but stare as she stopped close enough for their noses to touch, brown eyes flicking over her face in vain to read her expression. Smiling at him again and placing a hand on his cheek, which he only just then realized had begun to blush, his body continuing to run of its own accord and close his eyes for him as she moved that much closer.

A loud bang startled them both, Suzie pulling away as Jim’s arm reflexively flew up to cover them. The rosy blush in his features drained to leave him as pale as usual, shifting back further onto the bed in an attempt to get away from the looming figure.

"Time is up," the demon boomed, stepping forward out of its sulphurous cloud, slouched forward to fit in the room. Its horns scraped across the ceiling with a horrific sound, sending a cold chill up Jim’s spine.

Before he could get a word in edgewise, he felt something wrap around his ankles and began to pull, desperately grabbing at the mattress to try and keep himself in place. Another length of rope winding itself into a noose around his neck again, it sinched itself around him, strangling him as he clawed at it with one hand. Gurgling some attempt of a cohesive plea, Jim’s hand came free of the bed, the ropes pulling him off of it and into the floor in another plume of sulphur. 

Staring at the spot in the carpet, now singed black, Suzie muttered, "what the fuck…?"

The sound of nails on a chalkboard snapping her out of her stupor, she jumped back as the demon advanced towards her, a clawed hand attempting to snatch her by the leg. Growling, it barked something in a horrible sounding language, and she became rooted to the spot. Grabbing her, it pulled her towards it, the claws around her calf burning like no pain any living human had ever felt before in their life. Thankfully it only lasted for a moment, the stereo colliding with the demon’s head and distracting it. Snarling, it whirled around in time for them both to watch Jim phase through the floor, clothed in his traditional silver once more and pulling the rope from his neck. Face visible, more akin to a half rotten corpse than the ghosts one may see in film, he scowled at the demon, dark eyes almost burning.

"How? We made a deal!" the demon exclaimed.

"And a damn fine deal that was," Jim spat, reaching into his cloak. "I didn’t even sign a bloody contract, you git!"

Snarling and crouching low, its body changed to a more animalistic shape as it prepared to pounce on the ghost. Before it even had the chance, he drew one of his flintlocks quick as a whip, nailing the beast right between the eyes with a smoking bullet.

With a howl of agony, it began to disintegrate, but not before shrieking, "this isn’t over, James Craddock! This will never be over!"

Grimacing, he kicks a rug over the ashes left behind, muttering darkly to himself. Sighing, he sets to reloading the pistol before it dawned on him, dropping the archaic weapon- which disappeared before it hit the floor- and rushing over to Suzie.

"Are you alright, Miss Suzie?" he hurriedly asked, inspecting the bruise beginning to form from the grip on her leg. "So help me God, if-"

"What the hell just happened?!" she shouted, cutting him off. "What was that?! Why do you look like a zombie?!"

"I-I can explain-" he began, but a loud knock at the door interrupted him again.

Both of their heads whipped around to look at the door, Suzie turning back to order, "get under the covers."

Confused by the demand but not willing to risk upsetting her anymore, he did as he was told, feeling her get up from the bed as he willed his hat to disappear. He listened closely to her walking over to the door and opening it. Or, if he had to judge by the backstep, reaching it just as it opened.

"Why didn’t you answer the door?" a man’s voice shouted.

"I was coming to-" Suzie tried to explain.

"And who the hell is that?!" the voice asked, drawing slightly closer.

"I’ll explain, but you have to go into the hall," she stated, the sound of the door closing suggesting she didn’t take no for an answer.

Lying there for what felt like another couple centuries, Jim felt a pit open in the stomach he once again no longer possessed. He never was a religious man beyond the norm of his time, and even less so as that time faded, humorous considering these past events, but he silently prayed he hadn’t accidentally landed this lovely girl in trouble she didn’t deserve. Well… More so than he initially set out to. Recalling his original purpose for this whole misadventure, a lump formed in his phantom throat, making him close his eyes and try to focus on the sounds of the room rather than his own sinking dread and guilt. He nearly cried out in relief when he heard the door open again, quickly phasing through the blankets to rush over.

"My dad," she explained darkly. Better than what Jim had assumed, but not by much.

"I’m terribly sorry, Miss Suzie, I never meant-" he began to spout, but stopped as she held up her hand.

"First," she said, "what was that thing with the horns?"

"Ah…" Smiling nervously, he answered, "a demon. Figures himself the Devil, but-"

"Why do you look like roadkill?" she continued.

Quickly turning his body invisible, clearly surprising her, he said, "that, ah…"

"Has something to do with the whole ‘floating through the floor’ thing?" she suggested.

"Aye," he answered dully.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she studied him for a moment before asking, "you’re a ghost, aren’t you?"

"Aye," he repeated. "At least- ‘Tis the best answer I’ve got, being cursed and all that. Not everyday an old mystic damns you to remain until an immortal soul perishes."

"Right," she muttered. Sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, she said, "and this isn’t a dream, of course."

"‘Fraid not, lass," he agreed. Looking down at the floor for a moment, he thought of something, reaching into his cloak again and retrieving a handful of American bills, holding them out to her and saying, "here. For the, ah, stereo or however it was."

Staring at the money, then at the floating monocle where she assumed one of his eyes must be, she asked, "why the hell are you-" Shaking her head, she corrected, "why did you agree to meet me?"

Hesitating to answer, he let his arm hang at his side as he sighed and admitted, "I… Was planning to rob you. That’s what I do. I’m a thief."

Seemingly not as worried about the prospect of being robbed, she asked, "why did you look different after-" Unable to find words to describe what had transpired, she merely gestured at the rug.

"I was human once more briefly then," he answered. "Well- Before- You get my point."

"Were you human at the party?" she continued.

"Nay," he shook his head lightly. "Happened after I left."

"Oh," she said simply. Pausing for a moment, letting the silence hang between them, she added, "I don’t want the money, Jim."

Surprised, he slowly returned it to his cloak, frowning and looking at the floor again. He nervously fidgeted with a button on his vest, trying to think of something else to say.

"…Should I be leaving, then?" he reluctantly offered.

"Not just yet," she answered quietly, stepping closer to him. Moving forward towards him, she hesitated, mumbling, "how do I…?"

Gently taking one of her warm hands and placing it against his cheek, he leaned down to place a soft kiss on her lips. 

He pulled away when she gasped, asking, "did I-"

"No, no!" she assured hurriedly. "You’re just… _Cold_."

"Right," he mumbled.

Running her thumb against his invisible cheek, she stared at him as if expecting to see him materialize again. Lord knows he doesn’t have the moxie to give in, a sharp pain in his phantom chest panging at the mere thought of her abject horror at seeing that horrid mess so up close. Instead, he leaned in again to her discretion, gently kissing her for a moment more. 

He pulled away when she started to wrap her arm around his neck, hurriedly saying, "I think it’s time I go, lest I never leave at all."

Frowning but not stopping him as he moved away, she asked, "will I see you again?"

"I can’t say for certain," he admitted sadly.

Not trusting himself to say anything else, he looked back at her once more before phasing through the glass door to the balcony and disappearing. With a forlorn sigh, Suzie stared out into the night for a time before drawing the curtain closed across the door, laying down facing away from it. Draping the blankets over herself, she buried her face in the pillow, forcing the thoughts swirling in her head to still enough for her to sleep.

In the morning, she’d awaken to find a few hundred dollars tucked under a diamond and gold necklace on her bedside table, foiling any attempt she could’ve made to convince herself it really _was_ all a dream. At least she’s sure she’ll never forget the last two nights. Similarly, halfway to Edinburgh already, Jim had been committing her face and name to memory. Spotty as it may be, he’ll be damned if he forgets her anytime soon. Or at all, if he’ll have his way. Preferably without demonic intervention, but Lord knows he could be swayed…


End file.
